One of my grandmother’s oldest friends, Clara, moved to Durham a few years ago to be closer to her daughter. I’ve known Clara as long as I can remember, and my grandmother has known her longer than that. We used to go over to her house to break the fast after Yom Kippur with a big vat of borscht.

Since we were going to be in North Carolina for Thanksgiving, Clara’s daughter and my mom arranged for the two of them to meet up in Asheville. I can’t remember seeing my grandma happier. (“I didn’t think I’d ever see her again.”)